Coming Home
by Ambur
Summary: Sherlock comes to understand sentiment, loss, regret, and love.


**Yea so I thought I'd try to be awesome like one of my fave writers ElixerBB. and try to hit you guys with the angst. I've done angst, but I can't seem to stay away from the happy ending...I think this one is somewhere in between. **

**This is a story that just kind of popped into my head. I wrote it kind of fast...I hope you all like it.**

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><p>I have been back from the dead for almost a year now and yet I still feel death's icy fingers clawing at my heart and soul. Perhaps it is because this is the first time in my life that I have truly experienced loss. Sentiment…it was always such a baffling thought for me and I have lived my life with the least bit of sentiment that I could and still remain human. But for her, I have embraced sentiment and now it is slowly eating me alive.<p>

I watch her from a far now. I am never to be in her presence again, never to hear the tenderness in her voice or hear her soft sweet laughter. I will never be able to inhale the sweet fragrance of lilac that always accompanied her or feel the softness of her hair around my fingertips. I will never again look into those large doe like eyes that would stare up at me with such uncertainty and love.

Molly Hooper has become nothing more than a dream for me. A sweet shadow that I might be lucky enough to glimpse from the corner of my eye. I can hear the echoes of her laughter as it floats along the cool breeze. It is like a memory of long past, one that cannot find its way back home.

I have no one to blame but myself for this. I am the one who broke her and hurt her so deeply that her friends worried if she would ever be the same again. I was the coward who would never allow myself to feel what my heart so desperately wanted to feel. And I fooled everyone, even Moriarty who honestly believed that she had never mattered.

She grieved for me when she believed me to be dead. I would often watch her from afar when she would come to the cemetery and sit at my grave. She would tell me things about herself and her life; she would share her inner most secrets, hopes, and dreams. She shared so much of herself with me and though I longed to reach out to her, to be able to share with her in person, I knew I could not. I had to stop the rest of Moriarty's network. Too many lives were in danger for me to indulge in selfishness.

It always pained me so to see her sitting on the cold hard ground in front of my grave stone. She was always such a small, delicate, creature. It hurt me to know that only after my supposed demise would she let me see her true self. Only when she believed me to be dead would she risk vulnerability.

I realized this was because she was so used to my harsh treatment of her; it is what she would have always expected from me, cruelty and coldness. So only in my death, would she feel safe enough to share herself with me as she had always longed to.

I want to call out to her, to run to her and take her in my arms, but I cannot. I will never hold her. I did not hold her when I was alive and now I am doomed to never be able to do so.

So I watch her from a far and dream of what might have been if only…

And then one day, it all changed for me. She came to the cemetery to visit my grave but she did not come alone. She had a man with her. He was tall, fair haired, and attractive. She clung to him like a school girl and that is when I could feel the sickness rising within my stomach. I could feel the bile rising within me just as the anger was.

I looked at her face and no longer was she pale. No longer did she have the haunted look in her eyes. Her skin was peach and glowing. Her eyes bright and happy. I think what hurt me the most was that she felt safe with this man. For the first time, she truly felt safe, secure, and loved. Things that she would never feel with me.

The pain I felt took my breath away. I felt confusion within myself. I wanted to hit something, tear it apart with my bare hands. I glared at the man from behind my hiding place like the skulking coward that I am. Part of me wanted to tear him to pieces for making her love him, for being the one to make her feel safe. I wanted to be the one that she still loved, to be the one that made her feel safe. I wanted to kill him where he stood for making her forget me.

And yet part of me was thankful to him. Thankful that he loved her, cared for her, and protected her. I was so grateful to him for having the courage to offer her what I was always afraid to offer her. And now because of my cowardice, I have lost her.

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><p>It has been three years since I came back from the dead and I am still stone cold inside. I see John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson from time to time, but only at designated times and places. My brother of course knows I am alive and has known from the beginning.<p>

But my dearest love, my angel, my Molly, still believes me to be dead.

John had told me how happy this man has made her. Molly feels loved and secure now. To see me would only cause her more pain and tear her apart again. Especially if I was not prepared to give her what she most wanted from me. And as I have already said, I am a coward.

So now I live as the coward that I am. I skulk in the shadows following her everywhere she goes. Sometimes he is with her, sometimes she is alone. I watch her and think this is what I could've had. I look at the infant that nurses at her breast and think, that child could have been mine. I look at her growing belly and I think of the child yet to be born within her and the pain at knowing that it could have been mine is breathtaking. It is all consuming and I am drowning in my regret and grief.

Sometimes I feel as if all I need do is extend my hand and I could snatch her away. I could take her far away and it would only be the two of us, for always. I have often dreamed of coming for her and taking her away from him and then she breaks my heart when she cries and tells me she loves him. She tells me she wants to go back to him and that I must give her back. I cannot bear her tears. So my dreams soon turn into nightmares as I always bring her home to him. I wake up alone and cold in my bed and I nearly suffocate on my loneliness and my misery.

What a fool I am! A miserable stupid fool. I never deserved her. When I think on all the times that I spoke cruelly to her or treated her with contempt, the pain in my heart stabs at me mercilessly.

I have no one but myself to blame for this. She loved me and made no secret of it. I could have had her. I could have had a life with her, children with her. I could still be the one to hold her love, but no! I was too full of pride and arrogance!

I told myself that I didn't need her or her love. I am Sherlock Holmes. I am above sentiment and love. I have no need for it in my superior making. And so I would crush and dash her hopes time and time again. I would lie to myself and tell myself that this small, precious, gentle woman was nothing at all to me and that I could never need or love her. I would say it over and over, even though my heart new it was a lie.

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><p>It has been eight years since I have returned from the dead. I am as empty on the inside as if I were truly dead. I am a mere shadow of the man that I once was. I sit at my grave and stare at the stone. In my mind's eyes I can see her sitting her with me, talking with me, sharing with me, keeping me from being alone. I can hear the whisper of her voice speaking to me on the wind.<p>

I no longer follow her. It is too painful. I cannot bear to watch her happiness and know that I am not the man making her feel that way. I know it is selfish of me and that I should be happy for her, but I am not.

I want her here with me. I want my life back as it was, but with one vast difference. I want Molly Hooper with me every day. I want her beside me when I wake up in the morning. I want her to look up at me as she looks at him. I want her children to crawl into my lap and call me Papa.

I can no longer hold the tears at bay. The stream down my face, blinding me. I bury my face in my hands and let my sobs overtake me. And even now, in my misery, my mind mocks me. It plays such cruel tricks on me. I can feel her arms around my middle holding me. I can feel her small body pressed against my back as she holds me.

_Sherlock…_

Oh God…even now I can hear her voice. I can feel her small fingers running through my hair.

_Sherlock…_

My mind is cruel…it is a hateful thing…because even now, I can smell her as she speaks my name, holding me close to her, and comforting me.

"Sherlock…look at me."

I freeze. My breath catches in my throat and my body stills. This cannot be real. I want to look down and see if her arms are there, but I dare not. What if this is just a dream and if I look down, she will disappear from me again and this time, never return.

"Sherlock, please, look at me."

Slowly I pull my hands from my face. Do I dare turn around? What if this is nothing but a cruel trick? She makes the decision for me. She moves from behind me to kneel down in front of me. She takes my large hands in her small delicate ones.

I dare not look up. I am terrified at what I will see, but again she makes the decision for me. I feel her warm fingers press gently against my chin. My face is lifted, but my eyes are shut tight. I am too afraid…and then I feel her soft lips on my brow.

"Sherlock…" She says again.

I slowly open my eyes and she is before me. Her brown hair sweeps around, cupping her beautiful face. Her eyes are bright and warm. There are unshed tears swimming in her eyes, but they are not tears of despair, they are tears of joy and love. I dare not hope that it is for me.

"Sherlock…" She says once more before falling against me. She throws her arms around me and I pull her to me. I hold her so tightly against me that not even the devil himself could take her away from me. I pull her into my lap and hold her, rocking her as I sob against her. She clings to me as if she is afraid that I might disappear again.

"Oh Sherlock…why did you stay away so long," she cried. "I kept waiting and waiting for you to come to me. I always knew you were there following me. I could feel you watching over me."

I tightened my hold around her as _his face_ flashed before my eyes. "Because I could not bear to see you with him…to see how happy he made you…to know that you loved him and not me."

She laughed softly. "You are such a stupid man. I loved you then and I love you now."

I held her at arm's length from me, just to see her beautiful tears stained face. "How could you love me when you married him?"

"Sherlock there has always been enough room in my heart to love more than one person. Just because I loved my husband doesn't mean that I couldn't still love you. You were my friend Sherlock."

"I didn't want to be your friend," I spat out ashamed of the anger and bitterness in my voice.

She smiled gently. "No, not then you didn't. You weren't ready for sentiment. And so you left me. I met David and I fell in love with him. I don't want you to hate him Sherlock because he saved me. When I thought you had died…oh God…I didn't want to live any longer. I thought I would drown in my grief and pain. But then David came and showed me that I had still had so much to live for and that I could be happy again. I married him and he gave me two beautiful children. I am thankful to him and love him so very much for that. But I never stopped loving you and I never forgot you, " she said as she cupped my face and kissed my brow. "My love for you only took on another form, that's all."

I pulled her to me again and held her, kissing her head and her face, avoiding her lips, which I so desperately wanted to taste. I knew that if I kissed her, I would drink the very air from her.

"I cannot go back with you," I told her. "I can't see you with him. I'm sorry, but I can't. I know it's selfish of me," I tell her guiltily.

"My husband died Sherlock. He died three years ago in a boating accident. I thought you knew, that John would have told you."

I looked at her. Part of my heart broke for her loss and for her children, but the other half of my heart leapt for joy. I couldn't speak for fear of what I would say.

"Sherlock, you need to come home. You need to come back to your friends and your life. The world needs you. Your friends need you," she said.

"And what about you Molly, do you need me," I asked, daring to hope but feeling immeasurable guilt for taking advantage of her.

"I always need my friends near me Sherlock," she said to me smiling at me with such compassion.

"I don't want to be your friend Molly," I said to her. "It will never be enough. Not now, not after I've tasted loss and loneliness. Not after I have seen what I could have with you…what I could've had all along."

I could see the indecision on her face. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. I felt ashamed immediately for putting her in a position like this, but I was tired of being a coward. Even if she refused me I had to make her understand that I loved her. I had always loved her.

"I don't know Sherlock," she said softly. "I think I would be afraid to try with you…and my boys…it would be hard on them."

"I know that you are afraid to trust me. I never gave you a reason to trust me. And I can tell you that I love and by God, I do Molly…I love you so much…I have always loved you. And I understand that your boys would need time, they would need to get to know me."

"You've been away for so long Sherlock…" Her words faltered as fresh tears filled her eyes.

"Molly I can give you time. I can wait as long as you need if only you'll give me hope," I promised her. And I meant it too. I would wait a lifetime for her and I would never stop trying to show her how much I love her. I would never stop trying to make up for how I had treated her in the past.

"If you can give me time to get to know you again Sherlock. If you can be patient with me and my boys…"

"I can Molly, I swear."

"Then there is hope Sherlock," she said pressing herself to me again.

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><p>The sun had just started to set when we finally made our way out of the cemetery. I entwined my fingers in hers as we walked towards Baker Street where I was to meet her two sons.<p>

"Mrs. Hudson is keeping them for me," she explained. "I told her that I was coming to bring you home."

Bring me home. I thought what an odd little phrase. Where is home? Is it in the city or town that one grows up in? Is it where all of our ancestors were born? Is home wherever one happens to be at the moment? I had never really pondered where home was before. But as I walked hand in hand with her, feeling her so close to me, being able to hear her voice again, being able to just look at her again. I knew where my home was. My home was and had always been Molly Hooper.

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><p><strong>There it is...I REALLY hope you all enjoyed! Leave a review and let me know!<strong>


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